


Delight in the Mundane - Domesticity Meme

by SourCherryBlossom



Category: Homeland
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Family, Married Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-03-04 05:23:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2953883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SourCherryBlossom/pseuds/SourCherryBlossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My contributions to the domesticity prompts around C/Q, set after the end of season 4, and definitely non-canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carrie and Quinn take a vacation

 

A quiet evening in early summer. Carrie and Quinn had put Franny in the stroller, and gone out for some fresh air, walking side by side, as comfortable as a couple that had been married for twenty years. In actuality, they had been living together for only 6 months, and Quinn was still looking for a job, after processing out of the C.I.A. On that front, things had been a bit stressful.

"Quinn. Let's go away for the weekend," Carrie said impulsively.

"Where would we go?" he asked.

"How about, Philly. Your old stomping grounds," she suggested.

She could tell immediately that he didn't like the idea. "Not yet," he said. "Someday."

"OK, then," she said, "How about a road trip through West Virginia. It's beautiful. There are bed and breakfasts," she said meaningfully, with emphasis on the bed.

That got his interest. "Carrie, I don't think I've ever been on a normal vacation," he said, solemnly.

"About time, then," she said. "One of the perks of living a normal life."

They packed lightly, and Carrie took a couple extra days off to accommodate the trip. She was loading her bag in the car when she saw that Quinn had packed not only a tidy duffel, but a couple of gun cases, ammunition, a nightstick, and a set of nunchucks. For fuck's sake, she thought. When he walked out to the car, she saw he was wearing his shoulder holster, his Beretta 9mm tucked neatly inside, under his leather jacket.

"Jesus Christ, Quinn!" she squawked with equal parts amusement and dismay. "We're going to West Virginia, not to a fucking war zone!"

"Is there a difference?" he asked, a dry smile playing around his lips. She grabbed the lapels of his leather jacket and pulled him close.

Standing on tiptoe to kiss his chin, she was getting in his way, while he inspected the contents of the trunk to make sure everything was packed. He completed his inspection, and ready to depart, he put an arm around her waist, lifted her off her feet with one arm like she weighed nothing. He swung her around and set her down a few feet away, out of range of the trunk lid. He slammed the trunk shut, then, he turned back to her, satisfied.

"Listen. Nothing is going to happen to us," she said reassuringly, putting a hand on his chest.

"You're fucking A it isn't," he said, pleased with her, with himself, with the day. He kissed her, and bending over, picked her up and put her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, her legs tucked under his arm.

"Quinn!" she shrieked, laughing. "Put me down!" She wiggled as he carried her to the car, opening the front passenger side door. Setting her down, grinning, he helped her tuck herself into the seat.

"For the next four days, you're all mine," he said, a greedy glint in his eye.

She found herself without a retort, and he shut the door. Maggie held Franny in the window, as they both waved goodbye.


	2. Quinn takes Franny to a Well-baby visit

A bespectacled nurse in teddy-bear scrubs poked her head into the waiting room. "Frances Mathison?" she called, looking around.

"Right here," said Quinn, slinging the diaper bag over his shoulder. "Come on, kid," he said, taking Franny by the hand and leading the toddler back to the pediatrician's exam room.

"First, we'll get a weight and height check," the nurse said. At 18 months, Franny was still weighed lying down. She kicked chubby feet in the air and gaped at Peter, while the nurse weighed her naked.

"Twenty-six pounds, very good," the nurse noted, "You can put her diaper back on now." Quinn pulled a fresh Pampers out of the diaper bag, and put it on Franny, "Wait, don't wiggle," he said, "There you go." He had gotten pretty good at changing diapers, in the last 6 months.

The nurse led them into an exam room, and asked a series of questions to assure the family was taking care of the child using best practices – sleep habits, eating, what have you. Franny sat patiently in his lap, thumb in her mouth, observing the situation.

"How many times a day does she go potty?" the nurse said, taking careful notes.

"Um," said Quinn, "At least 3."

The nurse looked at Peter over the top of her half-moon spectacles. "And how does she do at night? Sleeping good?"

"Sleeps like a rock," Quinn said proudly. And it was a good thing, too. Franny's Mommy and Quinn needed at lot of privacy at night.

"Alrighty. And how about eating," the nurse asked.

"Oh, she likes everything. Well, except fish. And she doesn't like cabbage or Brussels sprouts," Quinn said thoughtfully. He didn't much like that stuff, either, he thought.

"And," the nurse continued, working down her list of questions, "Just to clarify the family living situation, Frances lives at home with her Mother, and…"

"Me," Quinn said, his face inscrutable, "I'm her mother's, um, boyfriend." He looked down, feeling a trifle foolish.

"I don't have any notes in here about Frances' biological father. Is he..." the nurse began.

"Deceased," Quinn stated, his face unreadable.

"I'm sorry to hear that," the nurse said, making a note. "Alrighty, and is Frances starting to talk? Using lots of different words?"

"Yeah, she sure is," he said, stroking Franny's soft hair. It was amazing the kid's first word wasn't "Quinn," considering how much sex Quinn and Carrie had in the next bedroom over, he thought, internally snickering.

"Any concerns?" the nurse finished.

Quinn thought. Franny was a normal healthy girl, with a very sweet personality. "Nothing that I can think of. Right, honey?" he said.

"Dada," Franny said, looking over her shoulder at Quinn. He turned red, right to the roots of his hair. Dada. Holy shit.

"See, a perfectly good word. Great. Looks like she's growing very nicely," said the nurse. "I'll let Dr. Griffin know you're ready for him."


	3. Quinn tells Franny a bedtime story

Night. Summer. The open windows admit a soft breeze into Franny's bedroom. As the sun goes down, Quinn leads the red-haired child to bed, wobbly and tired in her footie sleeper. Her thumb is plugged in deep, and she has her love bunny, but as Quinn tries to encourage her to go to bed, she pulls her thumb out long enough to say a word.

"Story," she says.

Quinn, ever a soft touch for an extra book, story or treat, sits in the rocking chair next to Franny's bed, and lifts her into his lap. "OK, honey. You want a book, or you want me to make one up?"

"Dada," the kid says. It still slays him, he didn't teach her that. Maybe Carrie did.

Franny's room had been pretty spare when he moved in, if functional. The bright mobile on the ceiling, the kitty poster on the wall, the stuffed toy octopus on her bed, the rocking chair they sat in - all that came from Quinn, shyly introducing himself into the child's life. "Go ahead and spoil her," Carrie had said, indulgently. "I know you're going to anyway." She was right, and he had.

"Once upon a time," Quinn began, "There was a beautiful princess who was living in a high castle. And there was a brave man who loved her, but she didn't know it."

Franny plugged her thumb back in, and relaxed on Peter's lap, eyes at half-mast.

"The man performed all kinds of heroic deeds. He fought bad guys, and traveled all around the kingdom. He'd do anything to protect his princess, you see," Quinn said, wistfully, "Because he loved her so much."

Quinn's powers of observation had not declined since he'd left Dar Adal's team – his perception was as keen as ever. He was aware of movement in the hallway. Carrie, listening.

"Finally, after some terrible trials, the Princess finally noticed the man. And she realized he was really a handsome Prince," Quinn said, choking up in spite of himself. "So…"

Carrie moved carefully around the corner, and stood leaning on the doorframe, eyes aglow.

"She's asleep," Carrie said, indicating the sleeping child.

Quinn looked down. Sure enough, Franny's eyes were closed. He stood up and laid her in her bed, covered her with a light blanket. Carrie turned out the lamp, leaving only a Hello Kitty nightlight burning – yet another gift from Quinn.

Carrie's voice was thick, as she took Quinn's hand, and led him to their bedroom. "Tell me how the story ends," she said.

Quinn smiled. "I think you know. But I can show you," he said invitingly.

Carrie shut the door to their bedroom tightly, and made sure to turn the lock.


	4. Carrie bakes a cake

"Shit, fuck, goddamn it!" Carrie swore furiously. She opened the oven, which emitted a cloud of smoke. "What the fuck am I going to do?" she said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement, and noted Franny coming into the kitchen, wide-eyed in her pink voile birthday dress.

"Sorry, honey. Don't talk like Mommy, ok?" she said, wincing as she used potholders to remove the burned cake from the oven. She dropped the whole thing into the sink, turned on the exhaust fan over the stove, and bit her lip so as not to swear again.

It was Franny's second birthday; Maggie, Bill and the girls were going to be here in 1 hour. She would have had just enough time to frost the cake, if she hadn't gotten caught up in going over some new intel about tribal movements on the Syria-Iraq border. To make things worse, this was her second attempt at making a cake today – the first time, she'd tried to make one from scratch, and had ended up with a 9-inch diameter pancake.

Quinn patted her back sympathetically. "Try again, you have time," he said succinctly. He opened the cabinet. "Here, these are easier," he noted, pulling a Betty Crocker box mix out. Carrie cocked her head and squinted at him.

"When did you buy that?" she asked. Quinn shrugged and said nothing, but she knew. Of course he'd bought it as backup when she announced she was going to bake from scratch. It was embarrassing, but he really did have her back.

As promised, the box mix had been easy. She'd put the cake in the oven, and went off to do some work while Franny watched cartoons in the TV room. If only she had remembered to set a timer!

Carrie sighed. Family was coming, the kid needed a birthday cake, and she was going to have to call Quinn and admit defeat.

She had just picked up her cell, preparing to call him, when the side door swung open and Quinn himself stepped inside, carrying a large white cake box. He had a mischievous smile on his face as he waved his hand in the air, made a show of smelling the smoke, and set the box on the counter, then came over to Carrie, giving her a huge, sympathetic bear hug.

"I destroyed the second cake. Goddamn it," she murmured into his chest, embarrassed. "You knew. How did you know?"

Quinn kissed the top of her head, and shrugged. "I'm a spy, I know shit. And this is not the room of the house where you've shown me your expertise," he said suggestively.

Carrie smiled, her face pressed into his shirtfront, her eyes closed.


	5. What's the rush?

"Come on, Quinn, floor it! We're going to miss it," Carrie cried urgently. Behind the wheel of the SUV, Quinn's steady grip belied no emergency. His expression was neutral, and while he drove briskly, cutting around slower traffic when needed, he did nothing risky.

His voice completely cool, he responded to Carrie. "We got it," he said.

"Shit. Quinn! You know we can't be even 5 minutes late for this thing!"

His old "I'm keeping my cool because I'm on an Op" persona emerged. "Take a deep breath, do not panic. We're covered," he said, smoothly reassuring.

Carrie looked out the passenger window, starting to feel a little frantic, her hands clutching. They came to yellow light about to turn red, and Quinn stopped instead of blowing it.

"Quinn! Goddamn it, you drive like a skirt!" Carrie squawked.

He turned his head very slowly to the right, gave Carrie a steely eye, and a look that said, "I'll deal with you later, Miss."

"There is a  _child_ ," he enunciated, "in the  _car_ , Carrie."

Carrie gave an "Agh!" of frustration and slumped down on the seat. When the light turned green, Quinn pulled smoothly out and made haste to the destination.

They managed to park, get Franny out and walk into the Theater with five minutes to spare before the doors closed. "Welcome to Sesame Street Live," said an usher. "You like a program, little lady?" Franny nodded, face shining, Quinn's large hand on her silky hair. With enough time to get comfortable, Quinn, Carrie and Franny found their way to their seats.

Franny sat forward eagerly, bouncing , ready for Elmo and friends to appear and do their thing. Quinn put his arm around Carrie, enjoying the texture of her angora sweater. Still steaming, she leaned in and whispered to him.

"How do you  _do_  that," she said, irritable.

"Do what," Quinn said, looking straight ahead.

"Stay so cool, we leave too late and then somehow, we still always manage to make it on time. You have a time machine in your pocket?" she huffed.

"That's not all I've got in my pocket," he said, with a sassy smile.

"Seriously, Quinn!" she uttered, frustrated.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek, next to her ear, and she shivered. He whispered. "I know you're pathologically late, so I set your watch and phone 10 minutes fast," he admitted, a wicked grin on his face.

She tried to get pissed, but it wouldn't take. Carrie bit her lip, smiling. Looking down she silently contained peals of laughter, then leaned over and whispered, "God damn it! That's my Chief of Support!", afterwards kissing Quinn's stubbly cheek as the lights went down.


	6. Franny Flies a Kite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Quinn uses his professional skills in a domestic setting.  
> Also a contains spoiler for what I think Quinn's doing in his post-CIA existence.

In the backyard of the house, Carrie jumped and reached, lunging into the tree branches, holding the handle of a long rake in her hands. She reached, she leapt, and she swore.

"Shit, honey, I mean, shoot," she said to Franny, who stood below, wearing a lavender windbreaker, looking mournfully up into the tree. "I'm trying, I really am, but I think it might be lost."

Franny's eyes looked sadly at Mommy, then rolled back up into the tree branches, her bright hair a flash of color in the drab November landscape. She sighed, and put her thumb in. Carrie dropped the rake, and sat on the ground next to her. The little girl gave a single, sniffling sob.

"Don't worry, honey, Quinn will fix it. We'll buy you a new one," she said.

Carrie looked up into the sky, at the rainbow-hued kite- another gift from Quinn, of course. He had bought it for her, even though it was Fall. "Who knows," he had said, "there might be a few nice days, and we can take her out, show her how to fly it."

Franny had grinned, squealed, hopped on one foot. The kite was so pretty. She took it and ran in circles around the living room. Quinn had been pleased, but had said, "I'm glad you like it, baby. But we need to wait for a nice day."

Well, the nice day had come, 60 degrees and sunny. Carrie had hoped Peter would take Franny out on this little adventure, but he had gone to the shooting range, early, to teach a beginner's class. "Got to keep the bacon coming in, babe," he'd said, and kissed her on the temple, leaving at 7:00 AM to open the shop. So Carrie had used her Saturday morning to take Franny out, show her the kite.

They had assembled it on the floor of the living room, no problems there. Outside, Carrie had even remembered how to fly a kite. She had held the coil of string in her hands, showing Franny how to get a running start, catch the wind. Her hair flew in the cool breeze, her daughter giggled delightedly, and Carrie almost felt like a kid herself.

She had handed the string to Franny, having gotten the kite launched over their spacious back yard. But the child had relaxed her hand, and the kite had been buffeted by the wind. It had snarled in a high tree branch. Having let go of the string, the kite's spool now dangled from the tree, well out of Carrie's reach. It looked like a single branch held it, but nothing Carrie could do would retrieve it.

Franny's frown deepened: the fun was over. "Maybe he can get a ladder," she said, hopefully. But it looked too high for a ladder. Carrie sighed.

The back door opened, and Quinn himself emerged into the back yard, looking natty in a black suede blazer, his Beretta 9mm still in the shoulder holster under the jacket. Carrie stood to greet him, and they kissed briefly, like a long married couple. Who would have guessed it had been only 8 months?

"How was class?" she asked.

"Not bad. One or two hopefuls," he said, "Everyone else, I'll be satisfied if they don't shoot themselves. What are you two up to?" he asked.

Carrie pouted. "Look up," she said. "We were having fun, until we lost it."

Quinn looked up, assessed the situation. He said nothing, but walked farther away across the lawn.

"Maybe we can buy her a new one," Carrie said, following along after Quinn, Franny's hand in hers.

He looked up again, and took four more steps towards the tree. He pointed to the ground behind him. "You two stand right here," he said. When they complied, he pulled his firearm, aimed, and almost immediately fired.

The bullet from Quinn's pistol cracked through the tree branch that held the kite, and the end of the branch and the kite sailed downwards on the breeze, landing on the grass below. Franny squawked delightedly.

"Go get it, honey!" Quinn said to the toddler, who sprinted for the kite, tiny legs pumping.

"Quinn, this is a residential neighborhood!" Carrie objected laughingly, hoping the neighbors hadn't heard the gunfire.

"And a safe one," Quinn said, walking slowly to Carrie. "And, a happy one." He reached for Carrie's waist, pulled her close, and gave her a lingering kiss. After a moment, they reluctantly stepped apart.

Quinn smiled at Carrie, and turning towards Franny, called out to her. "Come on, kid, let's untangle that string. You can always try again."


	7. Franny's Christmas Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Kate Morrissey (AstronautMikeDexter) who said she'd kill to see Quinn in a certain situation.
> 
> Respectfully posted in response to Peter Quinn's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (http://carrie-quinn.livejournal.com/55339.html)

_December, 2016_

This was the first year Franny really had Christmas all figured out – at preschool, she and her friends had made little presents for their parents, talked about Christmas, Kwanzaa and Hanukkah, and how each tradition was special.  Carrie was not a huge churchgoer, but her desire for family and normalcy had created a real desire for Christmas in her this year.  It called up happy memories of herself, Maggie, and her Dad, and though she wouldn’t have admitted it, even some good memories of her Mom.  She wanted to create the same happy memories for Franny.  

                For his part, Quinn happily obliged, putting up garlands of outdoor lights on their house, and setting up a huge fir tree in the corner of the spacious living room.

                “Wouldn’t you rather have an artificial tree?” Carrie said, eyeing the tree dubiously. “I want to make a nice Christmas, but Quinn.  All those needles.”

                “I’ll be in charge of vacuuming them up,” he reassured her. “You two just enjoy.”

                “You’re a good sport,” Carrie said, watching him step back up the ladder with strings of Christmas lights.  He was a really good sport. Always there for her, for Franny, for some new silly pretending game, or to help Franny assemble some new toy.  He was more alive and present now than he ever had been, ever since she had known him.  It was good to see.

 

                Towards the middle of December, Carrie took Franny Christmas shopping. On the way to the mall, they talked about Santa.  At Christmas Village, Franny sat on Santa’s lap for a picture, and whispered to him what she’d like.  The department store Santa was an old pro, and nodded studiously at Franny's secrets, while Carrie smiled at them indulgently.   What a big improvement over the previous year, during which the kid had been too scared of Santa to sit still. 

                But now she was older, and as a result, immediately told Carrie about what she asked Santa for.

                “More trains, Mama.  Thomas trains,” she insisted.  Carrie had already had enough of Thomas the Tank engine to last the rest of her life, but she knew those toys were special to Franny.

                “Good for you, honey.  That’s a nice thing to ask for.”

                They were pushing their cart through the children’s clothing section of Macy’s, and Carrie was getting an earful from Franny about what else she wanted.  Franny was an interesting kid, far more interested in planes, trains, and Duplo blocks, than she was in baby dolls, or dress-up.

                “What kind of clothes, honey?  Did you ask Santa for a new winter coat?  Socks and underwear?” Carrie asked, jokingly.

                “No, Mama,” Franny said seriously, like Carrie had just asked the most stupid question on earth.  “Not underpants.  Pajamas!  Train pajamas!”

                They were now passing by the sleepwear section, but all the 3T girls pajamas were emblazoned with princesses, cupcakes and unicorns.  These were summarily condemned by Franny, who turned her head and refused to look at them.

                “Ok, honey.  Santa knows what you want, don’t worry.  But you know, we can also get gifts for each other.  Not everything comes from Santa.”

 

                The following week, Carrie hit the jackpot as she and Franny loaded up on necessities at Target.

                “There, Mama!  Trains, trains!” Franny burbled in excitement, almost bouncing out of the cart seat.

                "Easy, there, kid.  Are these what you want for Christmas?”  She picked up a set of 3T boys Thomas pajamas, which looked like they’d be a good fit, warm and fleecy for the winter.

                “Yah, mama,  And there. There Mama, over  _there_.  There are some for Dada.”  

                Carrie smirked.  Franny was in the groove of referring to Quinn as Dada.  She might as well, since he had acted as her father in every important way, since just after she’d turned one.  Franny was pointing at a rack of kid-patterned pajamas, no doubt intended for high school and even university students, more as a gag than anything else.  She flipped through the rack, and sure enough, behind Spiderman and the Hulk was an XXL set of train pajamas.  Pretty much just like the ones she had just bought for Franny.  Only much bigger.

                “Dada?  No, honey, Dada doesn’t like that kind,” Carrie said, thoughtfully.

                “For Dada. Just like mine!” Franny insisted. 

                “Huh,” Carrie said. “You want these for Dada?  To wear at Christmas time?”

                “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!  For Dada!  Train pajamas, train pajamas….” Franny’s response trailed off into another repetitive song about trains, which Carrie more or less tuned out. The adult-sized train pajamas were cut very big, for someone broad in the shoulder and tall.  She thought they’d work. 

                With a wry grin, Carrie put the train pajamas into the cart.  “Ok, baby. You get your way,” she said, smiling.

 

                _Christmas Morning, 2016_

                “Oh, Quinn.  You shouldn’t have,” Carrie said, pulling shiny silver paper off of a tiny velvet box.

                “Yes, I should,” he insisted.  Carrie opened the clamshell to find a single baroque pearl, a strange, flattened and rippling shape, with a bluish purple cast, hanging from a fine white-gold chain.

                “Wow,” Carrie said, “This is really unique.”  Quinn’s hands brushed the back of her neck, making her shiver as he helped her put the necklace on.

                “Yeah.  The artisan said it was.  Just like its new owner,” he said charmingly, kissing the back of her neck as he finished.

                “Thank you,” Carrie said sincerely. “I love it.  Now, your turn.  Where’s my elf?”

                Franny popped up from the Christmas paper she’d been playing with.  “Go get your gift for Dada,” she urged the child, who ran to comply.  She emerged from under the tree, and handed Quinn a crinkly, wrapped gift.

                “Hey, what’s this, Franny-pie?” Quinn said, smiling.  He unwrapped the gift, looking confused.  “Isn’t this something for…”  He held up the top of the train pajamas, and gave Carrie a dubious glance.

                “ _Franny_ picked that out,” Carrie said emphatically.  Don’t blame me, her look said.  But underneath that, amusement.  “What do you think, do you like them?”  Franny looked at Quinn expectantly.

                “Um, yeah. They’re great,” he said, not a bit convinced.

                “Train pajamas, train pajamas!” Franny crowed. “Just like mine, Dada!”  From her hands hung her own train pajamas, just unwrapped and ready to wear.

                “You two better put those on,” Carrie said, delightedly taking in Quinn’s embarrassment , which was coupled with a bemused look.

                Franny was his sweetie, and he’d do anything for her.  And Quinn knew when he was beat.  He came to his feet and held his hand out to Franny.  “Come on kid, let’s go change into these,” he said.

                As Franny frolicked out of the room, he turned back to Carrie.  “No pictures,” he said, dangerously.  Carrie held up her hand as if taking an oath, then crossed her heart.  Quinn turned to leave again, then turned back one more time.

                “And this is going to cost you,” he said wickedly.

                “What??” Carrie asked, pretending innocence. “I was just trying to make the kid happy,” she said with a guilty smile.

                “Sure you were,” Quinn said, with his deadly smile.  “For the next month, no pajamas for you,” he said.

                “Oh, please.  Punish me more often,” Carrie laughed.  “Now go put those on, I want to see if they fit.”

 


End file.
